Her Master's Voice (2 page)

Lurid dragonflies flitted in the dappled light and the dark water lay still as they wove slowly on into the swamp. The mangroves and nipa palms blanketed the view until they burst back into the sunshine of a main channel. The
Siak
swamp barge, the rig hands’ destination, had buried itself in the opposite bank, but Raymond swept on down the channel. He wanted extra muscle to help with the cylinder head.
CB4
was a converted crane barge and now supported a light land rig instead of its crane. The quiet of the swamp shook with the noise of labouring Cats as the rig struggled to pull out of hole.

They nosed up to the muddy tyre fenders lining the barge. Tim left Raymond to get the head on board and went in search of Max. He found him working beside the Krumbein pump unit, surrounded by dismantled pipe work and tools. He looked hot, tired and greasy. Tim handed over the bottle of Pernod, intended as a sweetener for the toolpusher, and stopped to chat. Max was a Cajun from Louisiana and had plenty to say about the ‘real’ Frenchmen who worked for PetroFrance and Krumbein. Tim listened with sympathy but followed Raymond back to the whaler as soon as he could. He wanted to get back to his own barge. They dropped the
Siak
rig hands and headed off to the far side of the delta where
Sea Sprite IV
sat tied to a wellhead, waiting for its next operation.

The crew lined the railing, smiling as Tim clambered over the fenders and through the pipe work. It felt good to come back and shake their hands. He slung his bag over his shoulder and climbed the steps up to his portable building, perched in splendour across the stern of the barge. He stood for a moment on the verandah and looked around. The barge stretched in front of him. The generator shack with its noisy GM giving them electricity. The old twin pump unit, the heart of the barge. The storage and mixing tanks beyond. To one side he could look out over a branch of the Mahakam. On the other, he could see over the tops of the nipa palms lining the river’s edge to the tall swamp jungle a short way beyond. It all looked good.

Soon Raymond would run Tim and the others to CampDua to eat their evening meal in the mess. Then they would come back and he would turn in for an early night with one of the books he had brought from Singapore. Tomorrow
Sea Sprite IV
would still be on standby for the next acid job. After breakfast he would do a check of the pump unit and then he would leave Raymond to get on with the continual round of maintenance and painting. He would make an excuse and go ashore, leaving the wellhead platform by walking along the cable tray. Ashore, the swamp islands had a network of pipelines on trestles two or three metres above the swamp surface. Beside the pipes lay the cable tray, carrying power and telemetry cables and closed over by galvanized mesh. The cable trays served as pathways in the sky, above the mud of the swamp, and gave access into most of the islands. He would follow the swamp edge around, solitary, watching the birds and monkeys, raised comfortably above the jungle floor. On the other side of the island, perhaps only a kilometre away as the sea eagle flies but at least three along the cable tray, he would come to a primitive landing stage and a duck-walk of split logs leading into the jungle. This led to Darti’s house. He had not seen her for over a week, and he missed her.

Chapter 2

Sherry hated the alarm clock as much as Tim did, but she did not let it disturb her. She slept on, only vaguely aware of him moving around downstairs and finally clicking the door closed behind him.

It was seven thirty before she woke and lay staring at the ceiling, thinking of her plans for the day. Tim had gone away for two weeks at least and she had a prick of guilt at the feeling of relaxation creeping over her. She had come to positively enjoy being left alone in Singapore. Not that she did not enjoy sharing her life with Tim during the hectic six-day rest periods he had at home. In fact she loved visiting new places, following his short-lived enthusiasms and sharing unfamiliar food in strange food stalls. She supposed it helped for her to be taken out of herself sometimes.

The trouble was the feeling of sadness she sensed in him. She had noticed it ever since she had put her foot down and insisted on twin beds. He did not seem to appreciate her need for companionship rather than closeness, but having him wake close beside her in the mornings always seemed to lead to hints of sex. Sex that she could do without. She would have demanded separate bedrooms as well but she knew that would have pushed Tim too far.

She showered and went down to breakfast on fruit and cold water. She would clean the house, put Tim’s bed sheets in the washing machine and put away his magazines and the model boat he was building as a hobby. Then she could go to meet Ranji and on for her Whole Life class with Papi Bombar. Afterwards she would take Ranji for lunch, and in return Ranji would probably take her for another flute playing lesson.

Sherry locked the door but left the windows open behind their grilles. She never closed the windows. In such a gentle climate the whole idea of having a house to live in seemed an extravagance. Holland Road was its usual nose-to-tail rush but she had become a Singapore girl now. She stepped out into the smallest of gaps and the traffic slowed to let her through to the central reservation. Another deadly step out and she reached the bus stop. The Holland Road buses came as frequently as the taxis, but she had to wait for a number 106 to take her down into Bukit Timah valley and onto the Indian part of the town centre. The bus was old and crowded with chattering schoolgirls in white blouses and pleated navy skirts. They offered Sherry a seat but she felt too embarrassed to accept. The bus rattled and lurched its way down Bukit Timah Road towards the city.

She left the bus at the beginning of Serangoon Road, forced her way across the crowded pavement and went looking for Ranji. She waited deep in the Zhujiao Centre, at her father’s textile stall. Today being a Whole Life day she wore Western clothes, hiding her Lycra leotard with jeans and a loose shirt. Her luxuriant black hair hung between her shoulders in a heavy plait, garnished at her neck with a jasmine posy. They touched hands and Ranji led her quickly out through the busy aisles of the shopping centre.

“So, Tim has gone? That’s good. Now we can enjoy ourselves again.” They wove slowly along the pavement of Serangoon Road, sometimes on the narrow strip next to the road and sometimes in the pillared shade next to the shops. “You know, it always seems so long that we don’t see each other when Tim’s here. I think I miss you, and I think you forget your Whole Life mantras also.”

“No, I don’t,” Sherry contradicted her. “I don’t know the mantras anyway. I might be able to remember something if they were in English, but… I just sit there and open and close my lips.”

Ranji laughed happily. “Never mind. It is your inner peace that’s the important thing. Papi Bombar knows it is hard for you. Don’t worry.” Ranji’s belief in Papi Bombar and his Whole Life movement was complete and Sherry envied her. Not for her the weekly struggle with unfamiliar concepts in the work sheets that Papi Bombar distributed. She just soaked them up, as if she had learnt them at school. She probably had. Sherry bought her own inner peace at the cost of hard study and confusion but if her ordained path led that way, then she would follow it, no matter what.

Ranji suddenly turned and disappeared up a steep wooden stairway. Sherry followed her tightly jeaned hips upwards. Ranji had a comfortable shape, rich and rounded. When she wore a sari she showed off prominent breasts and a soft round tummy. She had a loud and happy nature, and filled rooms with laughter given half a chance. She also had a very sexy aura about her, and attracted both men and women to stand in her light. Sherry used to think of herself as elegant, but beside Ranji she faded to just dull and bony.

They came to a landing with a bookcase full of shoes. They added their own and stepped through the door into a bare room with three large arched windows looking out over the bustle of the street below. At the far end sat a low dais. The room was gently air-conditioned and the double glazed windows kept out most of the traffic noise. Facing the windows, gaudy posters of gods and mythological figures covered the wall, all explained in heavy Hindi slogans. More women stood waiting under the posters, talking quietly in small groups. Most were Indian or Sri Lankan. A couple looked like Malays. As usual, Sherry saw no Chinese girls and no other Europeans.

Ranji called out to the others as she hurried to a corner table and started to strip off her shirt and jeans. Her leotard shone shiny electric blue and bore the Nike swoosh across her barely contained breasts. It was very small and designed to cover an absolute minimum. Ranji seemed to overflow it. Nearly naked, she looked strong and capable. The other women were also undressing, all uncovering the latest in exercise fashion, either revealing leotards or a tight top paired with the smallest of bikini panties. Their near nudity made their make-up and jewellery shine more brilliantly. All wore earrings and bracelets. Everyone had rings on both hands and several had ankle chains. Some had jewelled nose studs, always popular with Indian girls, and one shy girl in a short yellow top and tiny matching monokini had a large rhinestone glinting in her navel.

Papi often lectured them on the importance of their feminine principle in the cosmos and the necessity of projecting their God-given beauty in their dress, make-up and ornament. In particular he stressed the role of the female bottom in representing all the richness, fertility and passion brought to the world by the Goddess Rati. Following his guidance all of the leotards and bikinis had a Brazilian cut to them and a variety of barely covered bottoms came into sight as the women stripped off their outer clothes. Sherry had been shocked on her first visit at the sight of so many apparently ordinary women standing around and chattering naturally while wearing next to nothing. Now she realised the importance of the feminine symbols and she was happy to feel the floorboards directly with her own bare bottom.

Ranji strode to a spot in front of the dais and folded herself rapidly into the lotus position. As Sherry bent and stretched to loosen her muscles, she looked at Ranji. Her lotus position might be correct, but Ranji was no retiring nun. She had closed her eyes, thrust her chin out and stiffened her back. She looked far from relaxed. She was still very present. Sherry settled down beside her, pulling her feet up onto her thighs and sitting up straight. Around her she could hear the other women settling down. She touched her thumbs to her fingertips and closed her eyes.

She felt proud of the progress she had made with her meditation. The lotus position had made her suffer initially. Even though she had thought of herself as flexible, her first attempts had turned into agony after very few minutes. Meditation had been out of reach because of the pain, but she persevered. Then one morning Papi Bombar had smiled just for her, and she had coasted through the rest of the session. Since then meditation had stopped being a battle with her body and she could concentrate on what Papi Bombar taught them.

Sherry performed her yogic relaxation and allowed her mind to focus on the past week’s exercise, the concept of joy or
ananda
without objects. She lost all sense of time and of her body.

She returned to the rustle of movement and knew that Papi Bombar had arrived. She slowly opened her eyes and gazed on the beautiful face in front of her. He was already seated on the dais, in position, and apparently meditating with his eyes open behind his round, Gandhi glasses with the pink tinted lenses. His plump face radiated serene contentment. She loved his solidness and poise, his receding hair and wispy moustache. His brown colour, his full lips and above all his deep, dark eyes with their unusually long eyelashes. She loved him like a grandfather.

His young male assistant, seated beside the dais, rang a small hand bell and Papi’s eyes came to life. His gently fluting voice started the chanting and the room filled with the soft sounds of the women behind her. She could not join in because she could not learn the chants. She had tried, even forcing Ranji to write a basic sutra in phonetic letters. She had worked hard for the following week but when she repeated her homework, Ranji had collapsed in laughter and she felt foolish. Now she let her spirit join in their communion and her mind caressed her feeling of inclusion in the family. Although she could not understand their words, she recognised many of the voices chanting behind her as friends to share gossip and a coffee or ice cream with after the session. She wondered which lucky friend Papi Bombar would select to receive his blessing today.

Her mind drifted over the time she had been chosen. A bittersweet memory. At the end of his homily Papi had blessed them as always and with the others, Sherry had bowed deeply in return. She had just started to brush the dust from her bottom when Ranji grabbed her elbow and started to pull her towards the door in the corner where Papi had just disappeared. Sherry had understood immediately. At last, Papi had chosen her for his private blessing. She had not known what to expect because whenever she had asked the other women, they just laughed and told her to wait and see.

In his private office, Papi had a modern office desk complete with an electronic typewriter and a grand swivel armchair. Behind the desk, glass-fronted bookshelves reached up to the ceiling. Papi had already arranged himself cross-legged on a low wooden tablet against the wall, his helper beside him. He gestured Sherry to sit on the mat in front of him and she quickly folded herself down until she sat with her knees touching the front of his tablet, only inches away from Papi’s own knees. Ranji settled next to her.

Papi Bombar was so close that she could see that his loose robes were made of silk. She looked up at his kind, beautiful face, and he smiled gently. In a low, mellow voice he spoke to Ranji.